The Fountain of Fair Fortune
by sweetdevil16
Summary: ...Of all of Beedle's tales, The Fountain of Fair Fortune was her favorite... An indepth look at one wellknown Hogwart's student's private battle with bulimia. Warning: this story centers around an eating disorder. Do not read if this offends you.


Author's Note: I think an explanation is required before everyone reads this. This story was inspired by Ron's mention in Deathly Hallows of other stories written by the famous wizard bard, specifically, the title _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_. Now, there are two stories woven together here, so I apologize in advance for any confusion and unnecessary headaches ; ) This story does center around an eating disorder, but in no way am I trying to glorify it. Bulimia is a disease, and yes, one that I am currently recovering from. Please review, but no flames. I can't decide whether I like this story better in past tense or present, so your input is welcome. This is the past tense version. Oh, and everything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling, the rest is mine. Well, without further ado, I present to you:

_The Fountain of Fair Fortune_

as taken from The Tales of Beetle the Bard

_There once lived a beautiful witch, her complexion rosy and fair, and her hair as golden as sunbeams…_

Of all of Beetle's tales, _The Fountain of Fair Fortune_ was her favorite. Perhaps she was drawn to it because of the physical similarities between herself and the witch, though she considered her complexion less rosy and more blotchy, and her hair, though blonde, would never be compared to sunbeams. She suspected, however, it had more to do with the fact that it was the story her mother told to her most often. She would lie in bed as a little girl, tucked safely under the covers, and listen to her mother recite the tale. Sometimes her mother would give the witch a name, her name. But whenever her mother did that, the ending would change as well. For some reason, that did not sit well with her. She would ask her mum why she always changed it.

"Because my darling wouldn't end up like that," her mum would always reply, smiling softly as her hand brushed against her daughter's cheek. She would lean into the touch, and soon drift off to sleep, reassured by her mother's comforting words. But like so many children, as time passed, she lost interest in Beetle the Bard. She no longer wished for her mum to tell her stories before bed, and once she began her schooling at Hogwarts, they grew even more distant. And so her mother never knew about her problem. She kept it to herself, and hardly anyone found out.

But Hufflepuffs weren't known for their secrecy: that trait belonged to those foul Slytherins. And according to most people, Hannah Abbott was the most un-Slytherin person in Hogwarts. A pure Hufflepuff through and through.

What idiots.

_…Traveling through the forest one night, she came upon an ancient garden wall. Though the garden had given way to the forest long ago, a stone fountain remained in tact in the center of the wall. Water flowed freely from the blank eyes of faces carved into the stone, trickling from their cheeks to collect into the stone basin below. The faces possessed an ethereal blue glow, though the witch assumed it must be from the reflection of moonlight across the water. Yet the sky was hidden by the twisting thick branches of the trees. Too tired and thirsty to notice, the witch conjured a goblet and drank from the fountain…_

She supposed it all started back in third year. Everyone couldn't wait for the lesson. The Gryffindors were all proudly recounting their first day of Defense Against the Darks Arts, and Ernie and the other Hufflepuffs crowded round as Dean Thomas described to his audience how he had battled a severed, bloody hand.

_Boggarts_. Hannah shuddered.

Unlike the rest of her class, she wasn't remotely looking forward to facing her greatest fear in a few minutes time. Unable to determine what exactly that fear _was_, it was with great trepidation that she made her way to the Defense classroom with Susan and Ernie by her side. Ernie was looking excited, talking loudly about how he couldn't wait to face the boggart, his chest puffed out as usual. But Hannah knew her best friend too well: his pompous behavior was only meant to mask his nervousness.

They entered the classroom to find Professor Lupin seated at his desk, smiling kindly down upon them all. Once they were all inside, just like the Gryffindors had foretold, he led them all back out into the hallway and into the staff room. One by one her classmates faced the boggart, some with more success than others, but everyone managed the _Riddikulus_ charm in the end.

Soon, too soon in Hannah's opinion, it was her turn. She stepped forward and the boggart turned to face her. With a crack, it changed from Susan's snake, which was currently tied into an intricate piece of knot work, into a mirror image of herself. Hannah could here the class murmuring in confusion around her. However, she was petrified to the core. Staring back at her was a girl so ugly, she shouldn't be allowed in public. Her face was blotchy and pudgy, and Hannah's own hand lifted to her cheeks to feel if they were really that large. The girl had a bulging stomach that could be seen through her robes, and as her boggart-self walked slowly closer to Hannah, she swore she felt the room shake with each step the girl took.

Glued to the spot in a silent wave of panic, Hannah felt her wand drop uselessly from her hand. She didn't know how long she stood there: terror has no concept of time. Perhaps it was only a few seconds, a minute, a year, but she would have stood there forever had the Professor not intervened. Her boggart-self disappeared to be replaced by a floating orb, and then it was gone. She found that she could move again, so she promptly collapsed to the floor in silent tears. Dismissed by Professor Lupin, Hannah felt the rest of the class staring at her as they filed from the room. She wished they would look somewhere else, at someone else, at _anything_ else besides her overweight body.

Once they were alone, Professor Lupin crouched down next to her, his face a mask of concern. He spoke of different kinds of fears: mental versus physical. It was much more difficult, he said, to conquer the fear of what lies within yourself. That Hannah had nothing to be ashamed of, there was nothing wrong with her, better wizards and witches than her had yet to overcome the fear of themselves and who they are.

Hannah had begun to feel comforted by his words; it was almost as if he understood... that is until he offered her a bit of chocolate. She stared at the candy bar in revulsion, quickly hurrying from the room, claiming she wasn't hungry. What did he know? The last thing she needed at the moment was food.

The inconsiderate pig.

Well, he turned out to be a werewolf, didn't he?

_...The water tasted cool and pure on her parched lips. Suddenly, an old crone appeared out of the shadows. She smiled a toothless grin at the young witch and congratulated her on finding the fountain of fair fortune. The witch stood enthralled as the crone spoke. The water she had just drunk contained a magick that would now be bestowed upon her. From this day forth she would have fortune in all her endeavors, so long as her fortune be fair. But should she gain riches at the expense of others, warned the crone, or use her luck to rob others of what is rightfully theirs, the fountain would claim her for itself…_

Like loyal Hufflepuffs, no one in her Defense class leaked the tale of her embarrassing episode to the rest of school; though Hannah was sure they mentioned it among themselves when discussion topics were scarce. Fortunately, with Sirius Black on the loose, those times were few and far between, and eventually, the boggart lesson faded from her thoughts. Third year soon turned into fourth, and with it came the Triwizard Tournament. She supported Cedric, the _real_ Hogwarts Champion, like a good little Hufflepuff, wearing her badge pinned across a chest that had suddenly developed over the summer, leaving her with unwanted curves in all the wrong places. She had grown a habit of looking at herself in every reflection that she came across, perhaps hoping that one day she would look and the curves would be gone.

One could only dream.

It happened so often that Susan once laughed at how vain she had become.

"Hannah, we all know you're beautiful, but could you tear yourself away from the mirror for at least one minute?"

Hannah smiled, but knew her friend was only humoring her. She was anything but beautiful. That title belonged to girls like Cho Chang or Lavender Brown, not herself. But aside from this increase in vanity -though was it really vanity, if she didn't like what she saw?- life was alright. That is, until Professor Sprout announced that Hogwarts would be hosting a Yule Ball.

A ball, otherwise known as a dance. That meant dress robes -worn in public. She could have screamed.

It wasn't so much that she was concerned about finding a date. She automatically assumed she and Ernie would go together, and sure enough, he promptly asked her to go with him, as friends of course. She was more concerned about how everyone would see her, more specifically her stomach, in her newly purchased pale blue robes. She hadn't realized when she had bought them that they would be used for a ball where she would be on display for the entire castle, guests included.

It was then that she decided that she was going to start eating better. If she was going to be forced into dress robes, she was determined to not look like a fat cow. That was Pansy Parkinson's job. So her diet began that night at dinner, and continued for about all of a day. The following night for dessert, the elves served chocolate cake and mountains of every flavor of ice cream, a rarity at Hogwarts. Hannah, starving from her feeble dinner of salad, broke down and began scooping herself giant spoonfuls of ice cream. She felt as though she had no control as she tried every flavor. It all tasted wonderful in her mouth, and before she knew it, she had eaten about four or five heaping scoops.

"Hungry, are we?" Ernie's smiling face brought her crashing back down to reality. She had eaten so much, and now it was all simply sitting there. She swore she could feel the ice cream absorbing into her stomach, turning into fat as she sat at the table. She feigned a smile, and quickly excused herself, claiming she had homework to do. Perhaps she would just walk around the castle until she worked it off. But no, that wouldn't do, curfew was coming, and the last thing she wanted was to be caught by Filch, wandering the corridors. As her mind raced frantically for a solution, her feet aimlessly carried her to outside the girl's bathroom on the second floor.

No one ever came in there. Apparently it was haunted, though Hannah had yet to see the ghost that the other girls dubbed Moaning Myrtle. Hannah crept inside and peered into the stalls; they appeared to be empty. She stood before the toilet nearest her. She wasn't sure what made her do it, but she found herself bending over the seat.

It was stupid, impulsive, disgusting even, but still…she'd heard rumors.

Actually, it made a bit of sense if one thought about it.

If food could go in, surely it could come back out.

Fingers trembling, not quite sure how to proceed, she stuck two down her throat, experimenting a bit. Suddenly, she gagged, and quickly withdrew them, partially from fear, but partially, though she'd rather not admit it, from excitement. Braving another try, she put them back down her throat and, feeling the soft lining back there, began to work her fingers up and down, until she gagged again. This time, she didn't withdraw until her stomach gave a final lurch and vomit followed her fingers out of her mouth and into the toilet. Only a bit had come out though, so with mounting anticipation, she repeated the process until all of the ice cream had emptied from her stomach, and by the look of the bits of green, her salad as well.

Pleased with herself, she flushed the toilet and straightened up. That had been fairly successful. Her stomach no longer felt weighed down by all that food, and the vomit really wasn't that bad; though a bit rancid, it came out easily enough. But now her hand was covered in saliva, her nose was dripping, and her eyes were watering. She opened the stall and washed off in the nearest sink, and despite the bitter taste left in her mouth, she felt a sense of accomplishment. She now had a back-up plan, in case she ever over-ate again. Which she wouldn't do anymore, of course, not with the ball so near. She smiled at herself in the mirror and returned to the common room; she really did have homework to do.

_…The witch, eager to use her new gift, thanked the crone and bade her goodbye, promising never to abuse this power…_

Hannah was concerned. She hadn't lost any weight. The Yule Ball was only days away and her thighs were just as thick, her stomach just as massive. When she complained of this to Susan and Ernie, her friends would give her incredulous looks, and say things like, "You are a stick, what are you complaining about?" or "You don't need to lose weight, shut up and eat something."

Just goes to show how much _they_ knew.

Nothing.

When the ball finally passed, it was with a sigh of relief that she donned her school robes once more. Truth be told, she had enjoyed dancing for the most part, but dreaded every time the band struck up a slow song. She cringed as Ernie's hands found her waist, positive that he could feel her love-handles curving out from her body. No wonder no one else asked her to dance. Who would willingly want to dance with someone the size of a hippogriff? Ernie only did it out of obligation, and so overtly pompous and chivalrous, Hannah knew he must have been attempting to mask his disgust.

Thankfully, it was now over and done with. Spring passed without much incident, except for the occasional trips to the bathroom to vomit, but that happened so rarely, she felt it hardly worth mentioning.

And then came June, and with it, the death of Cedric. It shook her to the bones. She, like most Hufflepuffs, was shocked that one of their own had died. And Harry was claiming that You-Know-Who was responsible. It just didn't seem possible, and yet…

Hannah didn't eat much that summer, so there was no need to throw-up. Her mother offered to talk to her, worried that Hannah was upset and needed to "discuss her feelings." Of course she was upset, a student was killed. But instead, she would only smile politely and reply, "No, mum, I'm fine, really."

Liar.

She was anything but fine. As June passed into July with no hint of You-Know-Who, and with the reassurances of the _Prophet,_ the death of a boy, a death that no one actually witnessed, began to seem as far and distant as Hogwarts itself. Slowly, Cedric faded into memory; she hadn't even known him that well anyway, why should she feel so upset? And so her thoughts turned upon herself once again. Determined to one day look in the mirror and see someone beautiful, she began to diet and exercise in earnest. She stuck to her regimen fairly well, that is until she returned to Hogwarts.

Fifth year was O.W.L. year.

Classes were the most intense they had ever been, only to be followed by an obscene amount of homework. To top it off, Hannah and Ernie were made prefects, which required taking time out to patrol the corridors each night before curfew. Hannah's diet fell apart completely.

_…And so the witch grew into the luckiest woman in all of Britain, gaining wealth, land, and titles through just means. She was careful not to slight anyone as she gained these riches, and in doing so, she amassed many friends, for who could begrudge someone so beautiful and pure of heart?…_

Restricting herself by day, she soon took to sneaking into the kitchens, so near to the common room, late at night, where the elves showered her with all her favorite foods. She wasn't sure why she did it or where that urge, no that need, to binge came from. She hated herself for it, disgusted by her weakness, yet she felt comforted by the food. Her restraint that she carefully maintained during the day would slip away as her nose took in all the delicious smells, her hand reaching for the nearest tray despite her mind's protest that she was full. Afterwards, her stomach heavy with food and guilt, she would rush off to the prefects' bathroom and vomit it all out, shooting the thin mermaid looks of pure venom every time she entered.

The filthy slag, how dare she be that perfect?

And then Hannah would feel like an idiot for being jealous of a _painting_. What was the matter with her? If she was going to be jealous, it should be of Cho Chang. She had the perfect stomach, completely flat, even when she sat down. It made her sick. And now it appeared she had snagged Harry Potter. First Cedric, and now Harry? Now _there _was a real slut…

It was Ernie that forced her to come to the D.A. meetings every week, surrounded by skinny girls like Cho, girls like that little Ginny Weasley. If Hannah had had it her way, she would have gone to the Hog's Head to get the real story of how Cedric had died and then never returned. She hated being around people who only saw her as a fat dunderhead of a Hufflepuff. But she had no choice in the matter. However, she could choose what she kept in her body and what she purged out. With her life becoming busier and busier, she began to treasure this small sense of control more and more. And yet, the control would disappear as soon as she began a binge.

It was a paradox…

She didn't care.

And so the cycle continued.

Hannah knew she never dealt with stress well, so it was only a matter of time before she broke down. As the O.W.L.s drew nearer, she began to binge and purge more and more, until she was vomiting up to four times a day. She knew what an idiot she was for doing it, could feel her heart begin to flutter late at night as she lay in bed after the familiar trek to the kitchens. She knew it was unhealthy based on the snitch-size lumps that were her lymph nodes, the calluses on the back of her knuckles from where her teeth scratched her fingers as she pushed deeper and deeper, each time more frantic, afraid there was still some food left. Her teeth were turning yellow, though a simple whitening charm fixed that. She wasn't a witch for nothing. And she could feel her body sway as she grew light-headed each and every time she stood up, wondering if this would be the time she passed out. But she didn't want to stop, or perhaps she couldn't.

She wasn't so sure anymore.

It was during Herbology one morning that she finally broke. She had binged the night before, but upon leaving the kitchens, she ran into Ernie. He wanted her to help with patrolling, and for over an hour they wandered around the castle, Ernie chatting incessantly about how many hours of studying he'd been doing. By the time they had returned to the dormitory, it was too late to purge. All the fat and calories had been absorbed, and she fell asleep dreaming of rolls of flab, which turned into rolls of parchment that were her O.W.L. exams, all of them with large T's written in red across the top, while voices chanted "Troll" in the background.

She awoke feeling disgusted with herself and on the verge of panic. So when Professor Sprout simply _mentioned_ the O.W.L.s, she felt the tears coming, unable to stop them. Just perfect. Here she was, once again crying in front of her classmates. But all she could manage to do was blubber that she was too stupid to take the O.W.L.s and that she wanted to leave school now.

She knew what they were thinking: _pathetic_. And she was, truly.

Looking back, Hannah marveled at the fact that Madame Pomfrey didn't notice anything. Yes, she had tutted that Hannah was looking thin and peaky, but nothing more.

"Must be these exams, you poor dear. Here's a calming potion. My, you need to eat more, you're skin a bones."

The calming draught did nothing to raise her spirits compared to the nurse's words, and Hannah left the hospital wing with a smile on her face. She made her way back to Herbology, but paused as she caught her reflection in the greenhouse glass. Her smile faltered then vanished completely. She wasn't skin and bones; it was a lie. The pudgy girl stared back at her, unable to work up any tears thanks to the potion. Quietly, she slipped back into the greenhouse.

Ernie and Susan gave her faltering smiles before returning to their plants.

No one else seemed to care. Under the influence of the draught, she did the only thing she could: she sighed.

_…In time, as so often happens with young witches, she fell in love with one of these companions. Noble and chivalrous, the young man was everything the witch desired. Yet, he was betrothed to another woman. Believing the man would be happier with her, the witch used her magick to win his heart. And so the man married the witch, leaving his betrothed to return to her family…_

With O.W.L.s finally over, she thought she would be able to relax a bit. But instead, the wizarding world erupted as You-Know-Who was confirmed to be at large again. She had known it to be true since _The Quibbler_ interview, but now her mum knew it too, and things grew more and more tense as the _Prophet_ began publishing all the strange disappearances and sightings they'd been keeping quiet for over a year. The summer turned gloomy as the dementor mist settled over everything, infecting the country. Susan's aunt had been killed, and Hannah drafted a letter to her friend, unsure of how to sound consoling on paper. She never sent it; the letter lay crumpled in her waste bin, along with all her attempts to write to Ernie. With despair sinking in everywhere, Hannah retreated into her world of binging and purging, her one control in this new era of uncertainty.

On the eve before her return to Hogwarts, her mother came into her room.

"Hannah, let me tell you a story, for old time's sake."

And so she allowed her mum to recite her favorite tale about a beautiful witch named Hannah and a fountain of fair fortune. But when he mother came to the end, and began to twist it as usual, Hannah interrupted.

"Don't change it."

Despite her mother's protests, Hannah was insistent, and so her mum relented. Though once she was through, her mother gently brushed her hand against Hannah's cheek, and whispered, "My darling wouldn't end up like that."

Hannah leaned into the touch, closed her eyes, but did not reply.

_…On her wedding night, the witch was awoken by a loud knock on her castle door. Leaving her husband sleeping peacefully in bed, she crept down the stone staircase as the door swung open. Standing upon the threshold was her husband's betrothed, but as the witch drew nearer, the woman's features began to age and contort, until the witch was no longer gazing upon a young woman, but upon the old crone from so long ago. The crone was not smiling this time, and it was with a grave voice that she spoke to the witch. The witch had forgotten her promise and had abused her gift, robbing someone of what was rightfully theirs. The witch protested that she had stolen nothing; all her wealth and treasure had been gained fairly. Now the crone did smile, but the familiar toothless grin only made the witch more uneasy. Wealth, explained the crone, does not simply mean objects belonging to the physical world. The poorest beggar may feel like the richest man alive if only he has the love of someone by his side. The witch had stolen the love of her husband, a love that rightfully belongs to another…_

"I know what you're doing to yourself."

Hannah came to halt, refusing to look at him. They were on patrol; this was not the time for this conversation. But was there ever a proper time for this conversation?

Probably not. Still.

Ernie knew. He had found out. She tried to laugh it off. Nothing to worry about. Aboslutely nothing. He didn't laugh.

She was so thin, he said, he thought she would break.

She wasn't made of glass, she replied.

"No, you're made of stone."

He spoke calmly, lacking his usual pompous air. She only heard bits and pieces of his speech, obviously practiced so carefully beforehand, probably in front of a mirror. Had she not been on the receiving end, she would have suggested that he puff out his chest a bit more since it always added to the severity of his voice, though perhaps now was not the time.

Because she was, so it wasn't.

...She no longer let anyone in, refusing to confide in her friends…cold as rock, she had withdrawn from everyone… he and Susan were worried about her…she was robbing them of their friend, the girl they cared so much about…

"We have the right to love you, and you have the right to love yourself."

Hannah ran from him then. Why did everyone continue to lie to her? Didn't she deserve the truth? Didn't she…?

The truth came crashing down upon her the next morning. She was told in the middle of Herbology. Professor Sprout was very kind about it, though Hannah had a hard time remembering the details. It was as if her world was shifting in and out of focus. Her mother was dead –killed- by death eaters. The names eluded her, not that they mattered. She quietly followed her Head of House outside of the greenhouse. She wasn't crying, surprisingly. Perhaps she would cry later; she'd shed enough tears in front of her classmates. She felt light-headed as the September sun struck her face, light-as-a-feather in fact. Smiling at the thought, she heard a small thud that sounded as if someone had fallen, and then everything went dark.

_…And so, the crone had come to collect the witch, for the fountain demanded retribution for this abuse. The witch wailed in protest, but the crone took her by the arm and they vanished in an unearthly glow of light. Awoken by his wife's screams, the young man rushed from his bedroom to find not his wife, but the body of his betrothed lying along the threshold. His love for her restored, he took her in his arms and gently placed a kiss upon her lips. She slowly awoke and smiled up at her love. All was forgiven, and they soon were married…_

She awoke in the hospital wing, surrounded by Ernie, Susan, Madam Pomfrey, and Professor Sprout. They muttered in soft voices. Hannah tried to string the words together:

"-Should have told someone before…very ill… malnourished… underweight… verge of death…"

It was all a blur of images from there. She was taken to a hospital, not St. Mungo's, no, they didn't specialize in her _condition._

Terms were introduced to her, words like: eating disorders, bulimia, and therapy. The first day there, she kicked and screamed. The second day there, she cried and pleaded. The third day there, she began to accept that she wasn't leaving anytime soon.

And it dawned on her that it wasn't as if she had anywhere else to go. At home she had no family, and at Hogwarts she had no friends. Friends didn't do this to other friends. So she stayed, days passing into weeks, weeks into months.

And then one day, she came across a book, left abandoned under her bed, most likely left behind by the previous occupant. Its cover was faded and grey, though she could just make out the title printed in peeling gold lettering: _The Tales of Beetle the Bard_. She flipped through the worn pages until she came across a familiar story, and began to read…

Once finished, she closed the book with a resounding snap, and felt silent tears roll down her cheeks. Her mother was truly and irrevocably dead. Hannah let out a sob as the truth hit her. She let the pain wash over her as she sat on her bed, tears splattering the cover of the book. Her thoughts swirled with memories of her mum and of herself over the past few years, until her mind fixated on that last evening with her mother. The words echoed in her head, so close and clear, almost as if her mum was with her, whispering in her ear: My darling wouldn't end up like that.

And in that moment, Hannah chose her ending.

_…Far away, in a forest long forgotten, a fountain of stone faces shone in the darkness. One face, that of a woman's, appeared less weathered than the rest, as if it had been newly carved. Illuminated by the ethereal blue light, water wept from her eyes to stream down cheeks that, if real, might have been rosy and fair._

She stayed at the hospital for over a year and a half. During her time there, she learned to accept herself, though some days were tougher than others. It was always there, in the back of her mind. It would be so _easy_ to relapse.

So simple, her boggart-self would whisper to her in her nightmares.

But she chose to no longer obey that part of herself, no matter how tempted, and she chose to forgive her friends, who she knew loved her. Ernie and Susan had kept up a constant stream of letters, never wavering, despite her initial lack of response, informing her of life outside the hospital walls. So, upon unpacking her trunk at home, she wasn't that surprised when she lifted out a long forgotten Galleon, only to feel it grow hot in her hand as today's date formed along the edge where the serial number should have been. Ernie had said something like this would happen eventually. They had been expecting it, and so Hannah found her wand and set off for Hogsmeade, where, she knew through their letters, a certain barman would be waiting to escort her into Hogwarts…

The younger students were already being evacuated by the time Hannah made her way through the passageway into the Room of Requirement. Never having learned how to apparate, it had taken her longer than she would've like to get there. Fighting against the tide of terrified students, she made her way out of the room, searching for a familiar face. She joined the first group of D.A. members that she came across led by Fred Weasley and Lee Jordan. The battle soon began, and she lost track of time as chaos erupted. It lasted for hours, and more than once she came within an inch of the killing curse. But with the dawn came the end, and she stood in the Great Hall with the rest as You-Know-Who was finally defeated. As cheers erupted around her, she searched for two faces that she prayed were among those celebrating.

Don't let them be dead. Don't let them be dead.

She turned around, peering through the crowd, searching, desperate…

Finally with tears of joy forming in her eyes, she spotted Ernie and Susan near a window, hugging each other in celebration. Hannah ran towards her friends and enveloped them in a hug of her own. As she let go, she caught sight of her reflection in the glass. The girl who stared back at her was thin and beautiful, if a little dirty. Her rosy cheeks were tear-stained. And when Hannah smiled, the girl smiled back at her.

Though she may have been weeping, she wasn't stone, and would never be so again.

The End


End file.
